


Sail

by BeatnikFreak



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, LATER, Pain, Post Avengers, Sad Thor, Soul-Searching, and steve and darcy have a broship, and won't talk to thor, angst like hell, loki is essentially a mess, lots of hurt/comfort, mouthy darcy, silent loki, yeah there will be romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeatnikFreak/pseuds/BeatnikFreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The blue light has left his eyes but Loki struggles to know what was the Tesseract's madness, and what was him. As the God of Mischief searches for who he really is, who will be there to break his silence?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Run

**Author's Note:**

> possibly my proudest work of fanfiction
> 
> and I bring it to you from the mire of the other site whose name shall not be mentioned
> 
> yeah
> 
> hope you like it

Loki has not spoken in six months.

The muzzle was taken off after three, after the unearthly glint of blue left his eyes once and for all. It had been demeaning to be watched all the time, to be guarded, to be inspected… That was the worst of it, the indignity of being spied upon. The muzzle he could deal with. The beatings he'd endured, possibly because the spark of madness had not yet left him, and with it came the flames that protected him from the regard and action and opinion of all.

But now… now all is quiet. Odin has decreed that Loki is no longer mad, that he is no longer under the thrall of the Tesseract.

He's half right.

The blue spark is gone. But what it had fed on is not. The resentment. The long years of being second-best. The betrayal.

The loathing. The pure, unadulterated loathing. But not for Thor – try as he might, he cannot hate Thor. He had tried so hard to, he had tried to kill him with the Destroyer – but he had been unable to.

The Tesseract had helped. When he'd fallen from the Bifrost, he'd tumbled through heaven and between the branches of Yggdrasil… into hell. And he'd … endured. Like he always had. Like he'd always suffered.

But all the while, he'd had that spark inside him, that little blue spark of the Tesseract planted deep inside his head and as he saw… so many things… it grew and grew, until he had no idea where he ended and the blue madness began.

He knows it was madness now.

But it's difficult. It isn't a cut and dried 'oh the Tesseract's influence is gone I'm sane now' case. Loki had already been somewhat warped. It goes with the territory, being the God of Mischief, and all that. Add in a thousand years of resentment, and then the soul-tearing agony of finding out that you're actually not your father's son, you're just a kidnapped power tool, as well as being the son of fucking Laufey, and you become pretty damn unhinged.

It's happening again, his stupid inner monologue. It takes over rather a lot at the moment, possibly because he hasn't spoken in so long.

Odin isn't keeping him here on Asgard – no, far from it. Being the All Father means that he is exceptionally good at reading people. And so he knows that Loki is no longer in a state where he will try and enslave the Earth again.

What state Loki is in is a difficult one to describe. He's no longer 'bag of cats' crazy, but he's certainly not sane.

He's struggling to deal with exactly who he is now. The loathing he feels is for himself, for his true form. Occasionally he'll hold his hand out and let the instinctual magic slip, and watch with morbid fascination as the blue spreads up his arm to his fingers.

He's never managed to watch it for more than minute. He hates it. Hates what it means.

He also struggles with thinking about what he did. He thinks he's gotten a handle on his actions on Asgard. That was all about self-worth.

But wasn't his next, even more crazed power trip about it too? Wasn't that latent desire, no, that burning need already intrinsic to his personality, just waiting for the madness to open it up and let it bloom into some sick and twisted weed, crawling through him, twining around his heart and mind and soul?

The worst of it is the not knowing. The uncertainty around how much of him went into the blue eyed man who allied himself with the Chitauri, who fell through infinite space and landed in his own personal hell.

And thus he remains in Asgard, sequestered in a plain chamber, cross legged on the floor.

Thinking.

~#~

"I worry for him," says Frigga, watching her son's immobile form from the observation deck integral to the large confinement chamber. "He has paid his penance… why does he refuse to speak?"

"Perhaps he feels he must pay his own," says Odin quietly.

He is partially right, of course, but he well knows that Loki is trying to come to terms with his identity… and he feels guilty. He knows he is in part to blame for this.

He stares down at his son, for that is what he is, no matter what Loki thinks. He has lost weight, his face's bones sticking out far more than they used to, his simple clothes hanging off him. His hair is lank about his shoulders.

But it's his face that gives Odin real pause. It's pale, dark circles ringing his sunken-looking eyes. Loki looks hunted. Haunted.

It is the face of a man fighting his own mind.

~#~

People come in every so often bringing food. He knows it must be at the same intervals, but he's so deep inside his own thoughts that time does not pass with any degree of regularity.

He doesn't eat it, usually. Only when the hunger gnawing at him breaks through the wall of his churning thoughts. He's Aesir, so he doesn't need to eat. The only thing he ever will need to eat is one of Idunn's apples every year. And he's missed the harvest once already, so what does it matter now if he misses it again?

That thought shocks his mind still.

Loki, the god of mischief, the eternal survivor, giving up?

Who is he?

~#~

It doesn't take much effort for him to leave the palace. After all, it's not as if he's under guard any more. He's no longer considered a threat.

He sees his reflection in one of Asgard's many golden walls. He is thin and pale, face haggard. His hair needs a cut and a wash. His clothes are basic and plain, just simple black trousers and a forest green tunic. The kind of clothes his mother would dress him in when he was sick as a child.

It's early morning. There aren't many Asgardians around. The ones that are, that see him, don't make eye contact. They don't say anything. They just look away.

The Bifrost is cold underfoot. He considers briefly conjuring himself a pair of boots, but then decides against it, savouring the sensation against his skin.

It's a long walk to the new Observatory. He doesn't really know why he's going all the way over there, seeing as he doesn't actually need the newly reconstructed Bifrost to travel between the worlds.

The sun has fully risen by the time he reaches the site of his demise. Of his fall.

He stops for a second, and crouches down. He runs his hand along the untarnished span, trying to understand why he did it. Perhaps his confusion is because he now knows what the result of his fall was.

But didn't he then? Didn't he know then that he was choosing between a rock and a hard place?

The compellation to fall is not so strong now, but it still pulls at his thoughts. Maybe that wasn't just the Tesseract that made him let go.

But he knew that already, he thinks as he straightens up, walking to the scene of his shame. That's why he's come out here, he realises. He has come out here to… atone.

Heimdall's face is impassive. "Loki," he says. Loki, uncharacteristically, bows his head in respect. "I see your silver tongue remains still."

Loki doesn't nod. He knows the gatekeeper can read his assent through his pose.

"Wish you to use the Bifrost?"

Loki shakes his head, then steps back. He looks the allseeing god in the eye. Heimdall appears to understand what Loki is trying to communicate. Holding the other god's eyes, he bows deeply.

"My Prince."

With that, Loki vanishes.

~#~

He reappears on Midgard. Germany. He might as well begin his journey of self-discovery where it all started.

There are plenty of people in the streets. Some notice him. Some do not. No one recognises him, though: the Loki the news stations saw was tall, strong, dressed in the armour that befitted his glorious purpose. Now, he is a shadow of that. The most notice he gets is when passersby notice his bare feet and unkempt appearance.

They hurry past him as if he is something to fear. He wants to laugh at this. How could they fear him in this state, in comparison to his former appearance in his Asgardian armour, with the Chitaurean staff in his hand, screaming at them to kneel?

He never has understood Midgardians.

After a twist of his wrist, no one notices him.

He finds it rather comforting to have no one see him. Strange, considering how he wanted to be king of these people whose eyes he would rather avoid.

King.

The word feels strange as he thinks it. King. Kiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnng. KiiiIIIIIIiiiiiinnnnnnnnnngg gggggggggggggggggggggg.

He almost giggles to himself, before he stops it, wondering if he's mad after all.

The square where he made the mortals kneel is nondescript. Germans sit around on benches talking and reading newspapers. A couple kiss by the fountain. The café is full.

You'd never know he'd been there.

Struck by a sudden sense of isolation, he reappears in the shadows. He feels the need to be caught on some mortal camera, even in this state, just to prove he was here.

Just to prove he was.

He shifts into the museum, idly walking around, trying to get a handle on the version of himself that had stormed through it, grinning insanely. He feels rather more than a shred of kinship with that Loki – indeed, he knows that right now he'd get a massive kick out of scaring the living daylights out of these innocents.

But would he have made them kneel to him? Would he have done so before the Tesseract?

Frustrated by the unanswerable questions inside his head, he abruptly shifts.

New York is cold and icy. He's not all that bothered by it, though. He's never really had too much of a problem with the cold.

He's aware now that his Jotunn heritage is to thank for that.

He doesn't like how it taints his memories. How the little inexplicabilities that peppered his childhood and adolescence have been explained by that one lie. It all seems glaringly obvious now.

He hates it.

~#~

"Director Fury?"

Fury spins round on his chair. "What, Lewis?"

"Loki's just showed up on one of our screens." Darcy fiddles with the hem of her sweater.

He eyes her. "Is this one of your famous windups, Lewis? Because I will tell you now, I am not in the mood for it."

She shakes her head so fast it's comical. "No, seriously dude, it's him. The god of badassery and daddy issues is back."

Fury whips up onto his feet. "Show me. Now."

"All right, all right," she protests. "Jeez, man."

Darcy's been working at SHIELD for just over a year now. She'd been picked up by them a couple of months after that whole shebang down in New Mexico. She'd just graduated, and then Coulson showed up on her doorstep in sunglasses, offering her a job.

She realised after a week of grunt work that they'd done it to ensure her silence on Thor and all the kooky shit that Jane was working on.

However, after another couple of months someone had noticed her uncanny knack for picking up useful information. How?

After she managed to hack into the mainframe and discover Fury's middle name, which she had proceeded to tell everyone in the cafeteria.

She'd immediately been dragged into the board room, where she'd explained that she'd done a computer class in her last few semesters of college. Apparently, she'd been mucking around with code whenever she got bored.

Precisely two minutes after that meeting had ended, she'd found herself in an office on the thirtieth floor, in charge of 'data analysis', which basically came down to her reading random stuff that came to SHIELD's attention and reporting back on anything useful, and keeping an eye on the Avengers' presence on the internet, as well as watching out for abnormal readings at SHIELD detectors – that internship with Jane certainly taught her a lot, even if she was a political science major.

It's a weird job, but not bad for a girl who went to college in Albuquerque.

"So, basically, a load of weird readings came through in Berlin," she says as they walk down the corridor. "The sort of crazy shizz we got when Thor started using the Bifrost again." Fury raises an eyebrow at her wording, but says nothing. "Anyway, it set off an alarm bell, so the tech boys sent me the readings and the location." She pushes open the door to her office, and goes immediately over to one of the screens on her desk. "And look, we got him."

Fury leans close to the monitor. A tall figure is walking through the doors to the museum – and then vanishes. "Is that it?"

"Yepadoodle." Fury turns his eye towards her. "Okay, okay, big scary boss man, I get it. No flippancy. Jeez." She rolls her eyes. "But anyway, about five minutes after that he surfaced in New York." She presses a couple of buttons and then points to another screen.

The same tall figure is walking through downtown Manhattan.

"When was that?" Fury demands.

Darcy peers at the timestamp. "About two hours ago. It took a while for the techboys to find the appropriate CCTV camera to hack," she explains hurriedly, holding her hands up. "Besides, he's hardly easily recognisable," she points out, gesturing at the nondescript man on screen. "He's ditched the reindeer thang, obviously."

"Darcy," growls Fury.

"Yes. Sorry."

"Where is he now?"

"Well, this is the weird bit." Fury eyes her again. "All right, the weirdest bit of a weird appearance." She fiddles about with the keyboard and the mouse, before drawing up a new video. "He's been sat in Central Park for the past hour."

Now, it takes a lot to silence Nick Fury, but he'll be damned if the sight of the God of Mischief sat on a bench in front of the lake in Central Park hasn't done it.

"This is a live feed, right?" he asks when his voice returns.

"Completement." She doesn't even need to check for his look. "Sorry."

"What's he doing?"

"Sitting and watching the ducks, as far as I can tell."

There is a long pause.

"Motherfucker."

~#~

He doesn't exactly regret trying to enslave Midgard. Well, no, he does – he sees now that it was both insane and frankly not something that he would even be particularly interested in doing.

Or is it? He struggles quite a lot with working out what was him and what was the Tesseract's influence… and, harder than everything else, working out what was him before he found out about his parentage.

But Midgard has never really struck him as somewhere he wanted to rule. Sure, he likes the place, no matter how inferior he thinks it.

To be honest, he sort of admires their prolificacy. They are gifted with such short lives, and yet they do so much… It beggars belief.

But still there is the nagging sensation at the back of his mind saying that they are not worthy of the sole of his shoe.

Not that he's wearing any.

He's faintly aware that it's starting to snow, but he's too busy trying to work out who wanted to enslave Midgard – him or the blue spark. Or whether it was a mix of the two.

~#~

The phone rings upstairs in the common room. Thor is nearest, what with Steve's attention firmly fixed on the Dallas rerun on the television, and Natasha apparently teaching Clint Russian. He reaches out gingerly, not wanting a repeat of the last time he seized the phone.

"Hello, is big daddy thunder man there?"

Thor chuckles. "Hello, Darcy. What can I do for you today, my lady?"

"Thor, you're going to want to get down here," comes her voice. He recognises that tone of voice.

"I will be there immediately, my lady Darcy." He puts the phone down, then calls Mjolnir to him. It zooms over Steve's head without him even noticing, into Thor's waiting hand.

"Loki's back."

Thor stares at Fury. "What?"

Darcy decides to circumvent Fury's customary over-dramatic bombast, and cuts in. "Little bro winked back into existence in Berlin earlier, and he's now in New York."

"New York? Here?"

She fights the urge to roll her eyes. Sometimes, she's not entirely sure Thor ever left the caveman stage. "Yes, here. Hier. Ici. Right fucking here." Fury glares at her. "Sorry. Anyway, he's been sat watching the ducks in Central Park for the last hour, which I suppose is an improvement on batshit cray-cray I'mma destroy you all –"

"Darcy."

"But it's still frickin' weird, so we thought we should probably go pick him up." The unspoken before he kills anyone doesn't go unnoticed by Thor, who visibly squares his shoulders.

"Who am I taking with me?"

"Not Fury, fo' sho'," says Darcy. "That's only gonna annoy Mr Green and Mean out there."

Fury rolls his one visible eye. "Loki appears both weakened and unarmed. You yourself attest that he has been punished on Asgard?"

"He has. My father punished him, and he has atoned. The All Father stated that he was not a threat."

"Nevertheless," says the Director, "I don't want any more flaming craters in New York. Take Rogers and Banner with you."

Thor nods, then strides out of the little office.

"Oh, and Darcy – be careful, okay," Fury states rather than asks.

"Yessir," she salutes, following Thor.

"You are coming with us, little Darcy?"

"Oh yeah, big fella." She punches him on the arm. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

~#~

"All right, Cap?" grins Darcy at the tall man coming out of the doors to SHIELD headquarters. Steve may have fitted himself into modern life, but he still hasn't given up his khakis and leather jacket.

"You're coming with us, Darcy?" he asks, sounding a little concerned.

"Sure I am. Plain clothes today, aren't we?" She nods at Thor, who is in the jeans and tee shirt he prefers when 'being Midgardian', as he dubs it. Beside him is Banner, looking scruffy and pale as ever in a jacket and jeans. "Hello, Doctor Banner."

"It's Bruce, Darcy."

The four of them catch the subway to Central Park, having no desire to attract any attention to themselves. Thor is silent, but Steve is happy to respond to Darcy's chatter, with Bruce occasionally chipping in.

Somewhere along the line, she had befriended Steve. She thinks it happened when she taught Thor how to use his phone, and the all-American hero shuffled over for the tutorial. She'd promptly managed to make him blush and promised to watch Titanic with him, an experience which had been both funny and adorable.

The other Avengers are sort of used to her being around the place. Thor sees her as his little sister, so she's often with them in their downtime, along with Pepper and Jane, when she's got time off from her physics. Steve asks her covertly about pop culture references and Bruce kindly talks to her about his own research when she asks, being curious as she is.

As they walk through the park, Darcy can feel the tension radiating off Steve. "Woah, cool it, Cap."

"I don't trust him, Darcy," he says quietly. "I don't want you getting hurt."

She flaps her hand. "Dude, I know when to run if need be. Don't sweat it."

Thor is leading them, visibly anxious without Mjolnir at his side. But Darcy had pointed out that they didn't want to scare Loki off before they could find out what in the hell he was doing zapping around Earth again, so he's left it back at base, along with Cap's shield.

"There he is," says Steve, pointing at a bench a hundred metres away. On it sits a rather hunched figure, upon whose green clad shoulders snow is beginning to settle.

"What's the plan?" asks Banner quietly.

"Thor should go first," says Darcy without thinking. "Sorry, I'm not in charge here. Ignore me."

"No, I think you've got a point," says Steve. "Thor, you should lead us."

Thor nods, then begins to walk slowly towards his estranged brother.

It isn't a long walk, but it certainly feels it. Darcy's heart goes out to the big man striding in front of her.

Thor stops two metres away from the bench. Loki hasn't moved in all the time that he's been in sight.

Up close, he looks… like shit, to be perfectly honest. He's lost a lot of weight, his hair is a mess, and his once upright carriage has evaporated.

"Brother?" asks Thor more softly than Darcy's ever heard him speak.

Loki turns to look at him. Darcy has a bit of a shock.

The God of Mischief's face is bone white, eyes ringed in shadows that have nothing to do with the evening light. There's none of the manic gleam that she saw on the news, or even in SHIELD's security footage… No – he just looks broken.

Thor speaks again. "Brother, why are you here?"

But Loki just stares at Thor, not speaking.

"He's not got any shoes on," says Banner into Steve's ear.

"Loki. Will you not break your silence?"

The look on the younger god's face is soul-destroying. It speaks of self-loathing and fear and sadness, all bubbling madly beneath the surface.

Loki stands, very aware of how cold he feels, Jotunn or no. He stares at Thor, trying to work out how the real him would feel about him.

The three humans stand a little back, watching the bizarre tableau unfold before them. Loki, the man who tried to enslave the earth, stands in bare feet and simple clothing, staring at his adoptive brother as if he holds all the answers.

"Loki. Will you come with us?"

Darcy doesn't realise she's holding her breath until the thin black haired man nods once.

~#~

Loki has been dragged in front of the Avengers and Fury, and it has soon become apparent that this is not the man who had tried to destroy them all.

"Loki… has taken it upon himself to remain silent. It is, I believe, his own atonement," Thor says.

He nods once in assent, and then conjures a pad of paper and pen for himself. Somehow, he manages to regain a sense of his old mischief, his lips quirking slightly.

The silence in that room is deafening as he writes quickly on the pad, then shoves it at Fury.

The taciturn man reads quickly, then fixes Loki with a blistering stare. "Loki is apparently dealing with the aftermath of being under the Tesseract's influence and would like it to be known that he wishes to perpetrate no harm to anyone on this planet… unless they harm him first."

Loki's lips twitch slightly.

Fury continues. "He apparently wishes to reside on Earth for the duration."

The turmoil that erupts in that room is somewhat unpleasant, but not hard to understand. To be honest, he just wantsto go find some place to stay until he can marshal his thoughts properly.

It's the girl who'd been stood beside the boy scout who calmed them all down. "Dudes, calm your shit. The guy's obviously in no state to enslave the earth. I doubt he could even enslave me right now. Just put him upstairs for a while until he regains whatever marbles he has left."

Loki had tipped his head to the side, regarding this strange girl in her big jumper and cargo pants. Could he enslave her right now?

Given inclination? Yes, probably.

He'd zoned out after that, watching the girl. She wasn't an Avenger, no… she was the girl who'd aided Thor's mortal in her work. What was her name again? Darcy?

"All right, then, Darcy," says Fury. "We'll take your plan. You got that?" he shoots at Loki.

Loki nods his assent.

"All right then, looks like we're done here."

The assorted Avengers and SHIELD personnel leave the room, but one hangs back. The girl. Darcy.

He cocks his head at her, surveying her.

She smiles slightly.

"You're welcome."


	2. Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Loki has a new waitress
> 
> and things are thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments welcome

They've put him upstairs in a room with a beautiful city view. Or at least, he imagines that it would be called beautiful. To him, it's still faintly repellent.

He notes that down mentally.

Thor has been up to see him already this morning, after he'd sat up awake all night.

He'd come up bearing gifts. Loki couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, let alone the last time that Thor had brought him food.

He'd given the other god a look that said as much, and Thor had laughed. "People change, brother."

Loki froze at the word. He isn't his brother. But he is. But he isn't. But –

Thor didn't miss his brother's body language, and immediately felt guilty. "Loki…"

The dark haired god's head snapped up. His eyes locked with Thor's.

Thor has never been good with feelings or emotions, and so the turmoil in Loki's green eyes was decidedly unsettling. It was also absolutely heartbreaking – because, adopted or not, Loki is his brother and he loves him.

But he doesn't see that. Blue spark or no, Loki can't see it.

Thor crouched down in front of the sofa. "You are my brother, Loki."

Loki stared at him, trying to understand what his own position on this was. Part of him agreed with Thor. Part of him wanted to push him through the fortieth story plate glass window.

Thor nodded sharply, as if to himself, and then straightened up. "Eat. If mother finds out from Heimdall that you're not eating, she will come down to Midgard and feed you herself."

Loki snorted slightly, looking down at his black-clad knees as Thor walked away.

"Oh, and Loki?" His head popped up. The blond god was stood in the doorway. "The last time I brought you food was when you turned Sif's hair black, and Odin confined you to your room."

Loki felt a small smile spread across his face.

"I still think you should have turned it blue," came Thor's parting shot, and then he left.

Loki had shaken his head for a second, on the brink of laughter, before he heard the door shut.

He really hadn't planned on this. He had not aimed to bump into Thor, or, worse, be kept by the Avengers.

Although, to be fair, he doesn't entirely know what he had planned on.

He'd intended to wander about the earth for a bit, see if he could come to any sort of resolution about who he was.

Well, he might as well be in comfort as he wrestles with his own head. And besides, it might be fun to play a few tricks on the Avengers while he's here.

Loki reaches out to the tray of food.

He doesn't want to eat it, because Thor brought it and Thor is a traitor.

He wants to eat it, because Thor brought it and Thor is his brother.

He sits for a very long time with his hand in midair, as if someone's hit the pause button. He wasn't aware that he even had a pause button. Normally, he's doing things all the time, even if they're just machinations inside his own head.

But now, he hasn't got a purpose. He isn't sure where the last one came from, whether it was him or the blue spark or a blistering conglomerate of the two.

He doesn't like not having a purpose. Even if his aim was just mischief, that was still enough. He thinks that maybe the desire to have one was partially to blame for his actions on Midgard, and Asgard… and even Jotunheim. Maybe his desire to have something to drive him spurred on his madness…

Wasn't his aim respect? To get everyone to see him as he rightfully deserved – to be seen as the god he was, not just as Thor's subordinate?

So was that him?

Or was it the Tesseract playing on it and taking him to new levels?

He sits for a long time in this purposeless state. Time does that thing when it means nothing again. He barely moves, as if to compensate for the whirling tumble of his thoughts.

Absentmindedly, he eats the food Thor's brought him.

~#~

"I don't like it," says Natasha. She has not forgotten her little tete-a-tete with the God of Mischief, and is unlikely ever to. It sits in the part of her brain usually reserved for the red in her ledger.

Clint sits impassive, but he agrees with her. He has no desire to repeat his experience with mind control.

Thor looks pleading. "Please, my friends. Loki is not the man you knew."

"I'll say," puts in Tony. "He looks like a tramp now." Thor growls. Tony holds up his hands. "Woah, calm it, Viking."

"How many times must I tell you, Man of Iron? I am not Viking. I am Asgardian."

"Asgardian, Schmasgardian."

"Boys," says Natasha dangerously. The two men step away from one another, Tony making his way to the bar.

Thor tries again. "Loki has been punished most severely on Asgard, and the All-Father has deemed him sane."

"This is the same All-Father that thought it was a good idea to kidnap baby Loki and pass him off as his son for several centuries?"

"Tony," says Bruce quietly.

Looking discomfited, Thor sinks down into a chair, fiddling with Mjolnir's handle.

"Maybe we should just give the guy a chance," says Steve, oddly tentative for a man of his size. Then again, perhaps he remembers being the little guy and the victim better than most of the people in the room.

Half of the people in the room turn around to stare at him as if he's insane. Thor's face is relieved. Bruce doesn't appear to react. This may be due to him being well-acquainted with … mental struggles.

And Tony?

Tony just sits there with a glass of scotch, watching events unfurl like they're for his own personal entertainment.

"Look, you didn't see him when we picked him up. The guy couldn't take over a dollhouse right now."

"Your choice of metaphor is not helping the gay rumours, Cap."

"And Tony Snark strikes again," mutters Clint darkly. He has had it up to here with bird jokes recently.

Bruce takes them all by surprise by chipping in. "Steve's right. Loki looked an absolute mess when we found him in Central Park."

"I suppose the fact that the guy that tried to take over the earth was watching the ducks – "

"Tony. Shut up."

Tony shuts up.

~#~

A while later, Loki leaves his thoughts and decides to explore the suite of rooms he's been placed in.

It's large and well appointed. From his previous visits to Midgard, he vaguely understands that the box underneath the wallmounted television is a video playing device of some sort. He's sure he'll work it out soon enough, if he's going to be in here for a while.

The large open room has a kitchen in one corner. He eyes it suspiciously, then moves on.

Behind a door is a bedroom with a double bed. He contemplates having a nap, but then realises that Thor is likely to reappear at supper time and wake him up.

He isn't sure how that makes him feel.

The bedroom has an ensuite with a huge bath and shower. Obviously, being an agent for the forces of good has some benefits, he thinks to himself, chuckling slightly.

He takes a look at himself in the mirror. He's a real sight. He rubs at his chin, which is developing slight stubble. His clothes are the wrong side of well worn. Frankly, he doesn't smell too good.

He wrinkles his nose in disgust. He always used to take such good care of himself… and now look at him, wandering barefoot through snow filled New York in clothes a servant would wear.

Hmm. That a servant would wear. There's the old superiority and entitlement complex coming back. Is that the real him?

Instead of letting himself get caught up in his thoughts, because Niflheim knows he's had quite enough of that for a few hours, he divests himself of the frankly horrific clothing, and avails himself of the fancy plumbing.

Half an hour later, he admits that perhaps the humans have their talents. He wraps himself in a towel, inspecting his torso.

He's a lot skinnier than he used to be. He's never been typically Asgardian in physique– his stomach clenches at the herd of repressed memories bulging against a mental wall – but this is going too far. Once was the time that he could throw a shuriken thirty metres without magic.

Now, he's not sure he could even throw it three.

He could, of course, bolster himself with magic… but somehow, he doesn't want to. Instead, he conjures up clothing for himself and returns to the living area.

Conjuring up a book for himself, he settles into the couch and awaits the trial… or relief… that Thor's inevitable visit will be.

~#~

Loki starts awake. The room is lit in a greyish sort of glow. It must be early morning.

There's a tray of food on the floor near his head. Thor, he realises. He must have fallen asleep and slept through the night.

The sound of a footstep sends him whipping to his feet, turning around to face the intruder. Unconsciously, he assumes his defensive stance.

It's the girl who'd stuck up for him. Darcy.

"Hello there," she says. He assesses her. She's carrying another tray of food. "Still not talking, huh?"

He raises an eyebrow at her and she snorts. "Okay then. Well. I am bringing you your breakfast."

He tips his head, questioning.

"Fury decreed that Thor didn't have to play nursemaid." Loki looks amused. "And so I got put on Loki watch."

He raises both eyebrows this time. "Don't flatter yourself, man, it's not because we think you're a danger."

The 'bitch please' expression on his face makes her laugh. "All right, all right, I get it. You're the god of badassery and all that, fear you or we shall all pay yadda yadda yadda."

Darcy immediately regrets her words as Loki's eyes darken. He still hasn't relaxed his defensive position.

"Dude, chill out." She comes over and places the tray on the coffee table, then picks up the untouched dinner tray. "I'm not the enemy here."

She straightens up, surveying his frozen form. There's something terribly sad about the thin man in his plain clothes who stands as if ready to fight, his cheeks hollow.

"You're gonna want to eat at some point. I think it would make your mom feel better."

She turns on her heel. "The name's Darcy, by the way. Darcy Lewis."

He keeps his stance until he's sure she's a long way away, then returns to the sofa.

He stares at the food for a while, unable to forget what she said about his 'mom'.

Asgard, he swears inside his head, then reaches out to the food.

The damn girl knows his weak point.

~#~

She returns at lunch time, and notes approvingly the empty plates. He eyes her suspiciously over his book, knees drawn up to his chest like a child.

"See, that's more like it," she smiles, placing down the next tray.

He watches her carefully, then reaches out to the sandwich. He picks it up, examining it.

"Dude, it's just a sandwich. Do you not have sandwiches on Asgard?"

The look on his face clearly says 'not sandwiches like this'.

"Jeez, a life without a BLT. No wonder you tried to take over the earth, you've been seriously deprived."

She winces as she hears her own words, realising how they'd sound. She flashes a look at him.

He isn't furious looking as she'd expected, no. He looks … confused, almost.

"I'll see you later," she chirps, leaving the room.

~#~

Thor corners her outside the room. "How is he?"

"He's eating, bro. Calm."

"Should I –"

"I think we're all best leaving him be for a while," she says. Loki hasn't lost his haunted aspect yet, and until he does, Thor's probably best to stay away. The daddy issues extend to brother issues, as far as she can tell.

~#~

Darcy's visits soon become routine in a manner that faintly unsettles Loki. It's too normal. Why aren't they interrogating him about his motives? Why are they feeding him?

It's even weirder that she's so friendly to him.

Darcy finds this new aspect of her job quite intriguing. She's trying to figure out the silver tongued god who refuses to speak. He's obviously in a bit of a state.

For some reason, possibly out of loyalty to Thor, she's determined to make Loki feel as at ease as possible.

He's started to relax around her. He doesn't see her as a threat… an anomaly, yes, but not a threat. He doubts that they're poisoning his food, because someone as completely lacking in guile as her wouldn't be able to present him with food with such a broad smile.

On the fourth day, he finally stops tensing up every time she comes into the room.

"Good morning," she says. He nods a greeting.

She hides a smile at the small victory.

On the seventh day, he actually laughs.

"Waddup, Loki," she calls, using her hip to open the door. "Heeeeeere's Darcy!"

He looks blankly at her as she places the tray down. She sighs, and for the first time in a long while he feels the faintest sense that he's disappointed someone. "Obviously I'm going to have to show you the Shining. It's a horror movie. I'm sure it'd be right up your street. Twisted axe murdering villain and all."

She claps her hand over her mouth, unable to believe how insensitive that must have been.

But instead of storming out of the room, or trying to kill her, or bursting into tears, all possibilities that Darcy had briefly entertained, he laughs. Not loud, or long, but a definite laugh.

On the eleventh day, he smiles.

"Hello," she says one morning, and instead of the blank look or the nod of greeting, he smiles. She's so shocked that she says nothing for a moment, before fussing with the coffee mug on the tray.

And on the thirteenth day, he lets her stay for a while.

"Right, that's you sorted, I gotta go eat my own lunch now."

She looks up at him as she moves to pick up the empty tray from earlier. His face has a slightly pleading look on it.

And then he shakes his head.

"You want me to stay?" He nods so slightly it's almost imperceptible. "All right, well, okay." She swings her messenger bag over her head and sits down on the sofa next to him.

She's not entirely sure what to say. What is the protocol when the Norse God of Mischief asks you to sit with him as he eats his lunch?

"So…"

He laughs quietly, and she pinks a little as she removes a sandwich from her bag.

"C'mon dude, quit staring. I'm not eating unless you do." She looks expectantly at him.

He shakes his head slightly, then drags the plate towards him. He looks at her. "It's cheese and pickle."

Loki looks at the sandwich, shrugs and takes a bite. He's getting used to mortal fare. It's nothing special, but Darcy insists he eats.

"Thoughts on the pickle?"

He holds up a hand, making the so so gesture. She knows that means he likes it, the uncompromising bastard.

It's surprisingly… nice, to sit and eat with Loki. It is slightly disconcerting that he doesn't talk, but she talks enough for two people normally, so it sort of balances out.

She picks up the book he'd conjured for himself. "What's this?"

He flicks his wrist to illustrate where it came from. "Aaaah. Asgardian lit, nice." He snorts through a mouthful of sandwich. "Oi, manners please, man." He rolls his eyes at her and she grins.

She leaves half an hour later. "See you around, Loki."

He's quite nicely surprised when she leaves a book on his sofa arm the next morning. He reads it voraciously, eager to keep his mind occupied.

The next day, she finds it finished.

"Did you like it?" she asks eagerly. He shrugs. "Bullshit," she replies. "I know you liked it, no one could read Harry Potter that quick and not like it."

He rolls his eyes at her, but he reads the next one when she leaves it with his breakfast tray the next day.

They fall into an odd little routine. She drops off his breakfast and a book in the morning, sits with him at lunch, and drops off his dinner in the evening before she heads home. She doesn't really know why she's doing it… but she feels sorry for him. And to be honest, it's the most exciting thing that's happening to her at the moment. There's only so many times you can trawl through the Avengers tag on Tumblr.

He finds himself entertained by her. She's a nice distraction from his churning thoughts, this cheerful mortal in her knitted sweaters and hats. He's come to look forward to her visits.

That probably should tell him something.

He's still struggling. Thor has been to see him twice. The first time, he had such difficulty deciding between hitting him or hugging him that he just pointed at the door. A dejected Thor had left him feeling a confusing mix between angry and regretful.

The second time, Thor had just sat there trying to make one sided conversation.

He much prefers Darcy's company. She somehow manages to talk to him instead of at him. Her inane chatter is soothing.

"How're we today?" she asks one morning. He opens his mouth without thinking – but his voice won't come out. He knows he could speak, but it feels wrong to do so.

He doesn't know how to speak if he doesn't know who he is.

Darcy's face is sympathetic. "Baby steps, eh? C'mon, I've brought you a coffee."

He nods his thanks, taking the cup.

He feels a certain amount of disgust at his dependence on this human girl. He doesn't understand it. He thought he hated humans. But then why did he try to rule them if he had no interest in them.

It all comes back to that same question.

What was his purpose?

~#~

"Goooooooood morning Loki," she calls the morning after Loki finishes the fourth Harry Potter book.

The atmosphere in the room is immediately perceptible. It sets Darcy's nerves on edge.

"Loki?"

He's sat on the floor staring out at the city. His shoulders are hunched. The air rolling off him is freezing.

"All right, those are some pretty nasty vibes coming off you today, mister."

He turns around with a look of hate. Darcy steps backwards involuntarily. Christ, that's scary. She realises now that he probably could kill her if he wanted to.

Loki hasn't slept. He has been up all night, gazing out at the city he tried to take over, trying to work out which bit of him wanted to take it over. His nerves are frayed, his mind a mess.

He does not wish to talk to anyone, much less as inferior being as a human.

He points at the door imperiously.

"Okay, jeez, chill out." She places the tray down, then holds her hands up. "Whatever issues you've got right now, don't take it out on me because it certainly wasn't me that got you in this state."

Rather more upset than she needs to be, she slams the door on her way out.

She's quite nervous at lunchtime, but she decides not to let him scare her.

"You prepared to be nice?" she demands as she sets the tray down. He's still sat by the window, although the room's slightly warmer now.

He rolls his eyes, then turns back to the window.

"Look, I know you're in a bad place right now, but you don't have to blame me for it. Now eat your fucking sandwich."

His head snaps around at her voice.

He feels a pinprick of guilt.

What. Is. Going. On?

Sulkily, he flicks his wrist and summons the sandwich into his hand. He examines it. Ugh. More mortal fare.

His expression is one of distaste, and Darcy can't help but react. "Hey, dude, do you think that I like getting chewed out by Fury for 'inappropriateness' or whatever and then as such having this ladled upon me as a punishment?"

For some reason, he feels his face fall.

Darcy feels bad. "Oh, jeez, I didn't mean it like that."

He eats his sandwich moodily, inwardly thankful for the distraction. Then he raises his eyebrow at her.

'Inappropriateness?' his face seems to say. She swallows a mouthful of falafel. "I sorta have a big mouth. You may have noticed."

Loki chuckles slightly.

And like that, it's back to their weird routine.

"I'll bring you the next Harry Potter tomorrow. I couldn't find it this morning," she says when she goes to leave.

He smiles. She waves a hand, then uses her hip to barge open the door.

His face only drops when she leaves. When he has to go back to his thoughts.

But there's a shred of hope. There is a person that he is interacting with, which implies that he has some sense of self.

And, what's more, she treats him like a real person, instead of a villain or a subordinate. Which might be what it was all about in the first place.

Loki is somewhat confused. But you know, he'll take it.


	3. Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Darcy parties with three superheroes, and rescues Loki from himself.

He's living in an odd dichotomous state at the moment. Most of his time is spent grappling with the inside of his own head. He thinks he's coming closer to an answer – he knows he has a self, but it's trying to pin down how much of that self was involved in his previous actions that's the problem.

The rest of his time is spent either asleep or with Darcy.

He feels faintly pathetic that he looks forward to her bringing him his food. Part of him resents her for making him feel dependent. Another part of him says it's only right that they bring him his food, as Prince of Asgard.

Another, rather larger part of him just accepts that she's entertaining and damn near the only company he ever gets and so he should just enjoy it while he can.

On Darcy's part, it's adding something to her own rather boring life. As much as the data analysis job was a step up, there haven't been any major crises for a while and she was starting to get a little frustrated with noting down internet rumours about whether all of Captain America's anatomy is as superstrong and mighty. And to be honest, her weekends have been somewhat enlivened for the last three weeks… which is kind of pathetic, now she comes to think of it.

And yeah, she feels sorry for the guy. She knows that he did some evil shit – hell, she was nearly on the receiving end of the Destroyer – but after what Thor's told her, and what she's guessed, the man's got some pretty severe issues. And there is the whole thing about the Tesseract controlling his mind that no one seems to know the full story about.

She wonders if even Loki himself does.

~#~

"Afternoon," she says one lunchtime.

Loki is curled up on the sofa with the fifth Harry Potter. She finds it really quite disarming how intent on the pages he is.

He raises his head slightly to smile, then goes back to the book. She dumps the tray on the coffee table.

"Where're you up to?" she asks, leaning over his shoulder.

Loki freezes as he feels the mortal girl's warm breath by his ear. Few people have gotten this close. Decidedly fewer mortals.

Darcy, bless her, is completely oblivious. "Ahh, Umbridge is a skankass ho," she says.

He's still absolutely stock still. She finally notices.

Blushing, she pulls back. "Sorry… I'm not too good with personal space."

She's very quiet as she sits down on the sofa.

Feeling discomfited, he reaches out and takes the plate. Only it's not a sandwich today. It's a crescent shaped flaky… thing.

He raises his eyebrows in question.

"It's a croissant," she explains. "Someone thought you should have a bit of variety in your diet."

He eyes her. She is studiously unwrapping her own lunch.

He knows the 'someone' is Thor.

Darcy's always careful not to mention Thor. He appreciates it, as it keeps his mind away from yet another thorny issue.

The fact that she does this, when her normal speech is totally unguarded, speakws volumes about the amount of effort she's expending on him.

He doesn't know whether to feel touched or disgusted.

"Go on, eat it. It's French, it isn't gonna grow a pair of antennae or anything. Although, I guess it would match that helmet of yours." He snickers slightly. "Isn't it really uncomfortable, though?"

He pauses with a mouthful of pastry in his mouth, temporarily disarmed by her question. Then he swallows, and makes the so-so hand gesture.

She raises her eyebrows at him. "C'mon dude, only so-so? You're walking around with a fucking pair of gold antlers on your head, and you tell me it's only a bit uncomfortable?"

He splutters at her incredulous expression. Using magic to stop himself choking, he rolls his eyes at her, then holds his hands up, admitting defeat.

"Ha! Knew it!"

He glares at her, brushing crumbs off himself. She's still laughing. Infuriating mortal.

"You've got croissant on your face."

Glaring harder than ever, he drags his hand across his mouth, then turns back to her with the universal 'happy now?' face on. Despite himself, he's holding back a smile.

She chortles. "Man, this beats watching Natasha beat the crap out of Clint for stealing her tater tots."

She knows she's said something wrong when his face immediately closes up.

He had forgotten where her allegiances lie. She is just another SHIELD agent, if an amusing one. Feeling inexplicably betrayed, he turns away from her.

"I'll just… I'll just go, then…" she says, uncharacteristically lost for words. He doesn't acknowledge her.

He curls up in a ball as the door shuts, feeling more alone than ever.

The croissant lies unfinished on the plate.

~#~

When she returns in the evening he's nowhere to be seen.

"Loki?" she calls. "Soup's up!"

He materialises in front of her. She shrieks and drops the tray, water spraying out of the cup all down her front. SHIELD training or no SHIELD training, Darcy Lewis will always jump when someone surprises her.

She's surprised when there's no sound of smashing crockery. She looks down, and the God of Mischief has caught the tray.

Not even a pea has slipped off the plate.

She looks up at him. It's probably the only time he's ever stood up in her presence since he came to SHIELD Tower. She hadn't realised how tall he was.

His eyes are examining her face, as if searching for the answer to some deep question. Then he steps back, and sits down with his dinner.

"Was that strictly necessary?" she asks, once she's got her breath back. He looks up, mouth full, and shrugs.

"Oh no," she mutters, "of course it's necessary to cover the help in water and make them wet themselves in fear. Where the hell were you, anyway?"

He points to the bedroom, trying to hide a grin. She's funny when she's annoyed.

"You mean you teleported yourself instead of taking the ten steps it would have taken you and your long ass legs to walk over here like a normal person?" she demands.

He nods calmly, waiting to see her reaction. He's having rather a lot of fun with this.

He only has to wait a second before the explosion. "What the fuck, dude?" she exclaims. "What the hell is up with that?" She looks down at him and realisation dawns. "You fucker. You were just trying to scare me."

He tips his head to one side to say 'yes, and your point is?'.

She stands there for a second, visibly apoplectic, before turning on her heel and storming out. "Asgardian bastard," she yells.

He laughs for a full minute after she's gone.

~#~

She crashes into someone in the corridor on her way out. "Sorry," she mumbles, looking up at her victim, before cursing inside.

"Woah, what ate you?" asks Tony Stark. "Darcy, right?"

"Yep." He raises his eyebrows at her. "Oh, just that big kid of a defeated supervillain up there, the usual!"

"Nice. What did Reindeer Games do this time?"

She can't help but laugh. "Bastard decided to materialise a foot in front of me so I spilt water all down my front, and then he just freakin' laughs!"

"Gotta say, that is pretty good." She glares at him, and he holds up his hands. "Jesus, I'm just commenting, as a fun loving guy!"

"Great. Even you're on his side in this one. I just can't catch a break."

"Hey, calm down, little lady –"

"You did not just call me 'little lady." Tony looks at her, and for a second, real fear crosses his face. Like when Pepper finds out he's been doing something wrong.

"You're the one that tasered Thor, aren't you?" he asks, casually.

She practically bares her teeth at him. "It's right in my bag, mister, and I am not above using it."

"I can see that."

~#~

At home, Darcy gets a text from an unknown number. Raising her eyebrows, she reads it.

Yo, Taser Queen. Stark here. The virgin wonderboy and I are taking Thunderpants out for drinks on Fifth. Come and be my cultural references wingwoman.

She stares down at her phone for a second. Tony Stark is asking her to come and have a drink with him. Admittedly, with two of her friends also in attendance, but… this is big.

Alright then, Man of Iron.

His response is almost immediate. If the superhero stuff doesn't work out for him, he could pursue a career in speed typing.

We'll pick you up. Thor knows your address. See you in twenty.

Rolling her eyes, she stands up and heads to her closet.

What on earth does one wear when going out with a ninety year old virgin superhero, a self-confessed genius playboy billionaire philanthropist, and the Norse God of Thunder?

Twenty minutes later, there's an almighty banging on her door. "Jesus, I'm coming!" she yells, running to yank the door open. "Thor, for Christ's sake, my door will not hold if you insist on knocking the shit out of it!"

"My apologies, my lady Darcy."

Downstairs, Tony is leaning against a hugeass limo in shades and a three piece suit.

"Jeez, you really don't do low key, do you?" she asks, rolling her eyes. "Where's Steve?"

"Inside. He was cramping my style." Tony looks at her over his sunglasses. "Nice dress, Lewis."

She does a small curtsey. "Honoured, I'm sure."

The door opens and Steve sticks his head out. "Hi, Darcy," he smiles.

"Waddup, big guy," she greets him, climbing into the car. "Stark, if you stare at my ass, I will tase you."

Tony's eyes immediately start inspecting the air pollution.

~#~

Loki reads Harry Potter for a while after Darcy leaves, but his brain starts jumping about inside his head once he finishes it.

Bereft of distraction, he starts pacing. The trickster is obviously him. He has always enjoyed scaring people, making them jump, causing mischief.

But what about causing actual harm? What if he'd appeared in front of her and made her smash the glass on her foot, like he had so many servants back in Asgard? Would he have found it so funny if she'd bled?

There aren't enough answers. He doesn't like it. One thing that he knows is him is his need to keep his table of balances: the rights and wrongs of his own morals, the wrongs done against him, the debts owed him…

He might love chaos, but only the chaos of his own creation.

~#~

"Rock of Ages, you go find a table. Point Break and I will get the drinks. Little Darcy –"

"Little Darcy will go with Steve and find a table," she snarks back. "Jack and Coke for me, please."

"Right you are," Tony replies, walking towards the bar with a slightly bemused Thor in tow. She turns to Steve. "C'mon, let's go find somewhere to sit."

Taking into account the leg (and shoulder) room required for both Thor and Steve, Darcy leads them into a booth intended for six.

"How's it hanging, Cap?"

He smiles. "Not too bad. I think I mastered texting now."

She laughs. "Hey, I'm proud of you!" He looks as bashful as a supersoldier can. "I'm gonna want proof, though."

"All right, I promise I'll text you next time I don't get a reference instead of calling you. Speaking of, Natasha has this habit of muttering 'Budapest' whenever –"

"Shit hits the fan?" Steve blushes. "Oh, relax. And no one knows what happened in Budapest, except for her, Clint and possibly Fury, and I ain't gonna ask any of them." She shudders. "Natasha gives me the heebie jeebies."

"I gotta say, she does scare me a little." Steve shakes his head slightly, clearly trying to forget something. "Anyway, how's your new job going?"

His question is innocent, but she knows what he's really asking. Bless him, he doesn't want her to get hurt. "It's good, y'know, bringing the God of Mischief his dinner, nothing too special."

"How's he behaving?" Steve asks, getting to the point while also completely sailing around it.

Darcy thinks. "Quiet. No, really," she continues as he makes a face that looks like he's unsure of whether to laugh or not. "He has not said a word in three weeks. He communicates pretty well, though."

She realises that she's just given away that she's been talking to Loki instead of just bringing him his food. "Steve, don't give me that look. I know that look. It's the look you give Stark when he does something stupid." He keeps giving her the look. "All right, I talk to him. Jeez, I feel sorry for the guy. He must be lonely, even if he is batshit craycray."

Steve looks concerned. "Is he still as insane as he was when he tried-"

"When he tried to do his number on the Earth? Nah. None of the crazy kneeling and laughing. Completely different kind of mental, now."

"What do you mean, Darcy?" He's looking more and more worried by the minute.

"I mean he's clearly going to pieces inside his own head. I don't think he's going to hurt anyone for a long time – the only person he's likely to, is himself, right now." She lowers her voice. "You haven't seen him, Steve. He's like a kicked puppy half the time. You watch him and one second he's smiley and communicative and then the next he's back in self-disgust mode, all closed in on himself. It's like he doesn't know who he is, whether he's the evil supervillain who spends his days hating all humans, or whether he's just a bit of a trickster." She pauses. "It's really sad."

The Captain nods slowly, clearly thinking it through. He's got the mind of a master strategist, so Darcy knows he's probably assessing the situation from all angles.

"All right, Darcy, but be careful. The guy's a mess."

"Yeah, Steve, I'd noticed," she sighs.

"Bitches, I am the god of alcohol," announces Tony by way of greeting.

Somehow, Darcy knows this is going to be a long night.

~#~

The sky is deep purple now as he paces around. The city is lit up. It's obscene – you can't even see the stars. These humans have no concept of beauty as nature hands it to them.

But yet, it's sort of fascinating, this glowing, sparkling city.

He walks to the window and presses his hands against the glass. He stares down at the streets, the people he would have ruled as his own.

Why did he want them? Did he really? Does he now?

He gazes at the infinitesimally tiny bodies moving around, thirty stories below his bare feet. They are so tiny and ephemeral – what is their worth to him? What gain is there in enslaving a race who can barely fight back?

But of course, they did. They did fight back. And they defeated him. They had what he was lacking.

Heart.

He feels a stab of respect for that.

Did it even matter to him that they'd defeated him? When Thor had given him the way out and he'd refused, why had he done it? Was it because he wanted to go on, or was it because he knew there was no going back for him now?

Was it both?

Was it neither?

No. It was both. He knows himself well enough that he knows the simplest option is never the one he takes. What was it that mortal had called it all those centuries ago? Occam's Razor. He defies Occam's Razor.

Which just makes this whole mess so much harder to understand.

~#~

"Y'know," Darcy mumbles, pointing at Tony two hours later, "you're a really great guy, even if you are Tony Snark."

Thor giggles drunkenly.

"You're not too bad yourself, Lewis," Tony replies, slugging back Scotch in a way that someone with shrapnel lodged in their chest really shouldn't. "You've got a great-" he yawns, "sense of humour. And tits. And personality. But the tits too."

Steve blushes. "Tony, don't be vulgar."

"Oh loosen up, man," says Tony, clapping him on the shoulder. "You need to get out more." Thor giggles again. "See, the god agrees with me."

"The god in question is incredibly drunk," Steve points out.

"I am not drunk," protests Thor, pointing his finger for emphasis. "I am merely… merry."

"Merry? I can get on board with that," declares Tony. "Who wants another?"

Darcy pats Steve's shoulder a little clumsily as he presses his face against the table, groaning. "Don't worry, Cap. S'all fine."

He whimpers slightly.

~#~

Loki has been pacing for nearly two hours now. He has conjured fire and sparks and snakes and filled the bathroom with bubbles. He has made his cutlery dance the Asgardian reel four times to the tune of the 1812 Overture, one of the few human pieces he knows well enough to recreate with magic.

But none of it soothes him like he remembers it used to, he realises, as he fills the kitchen sink with green slime.

Maybe he is insane, he thinks, as he falls onto the bed.

What does it matter now, anyway?

~#~

Steve takes decisive action when midnight hits, shepherding them out to the car.

"You are my (hiccup) dear (hiccup) friends," says Thor, as the other blond man holds him up. "We have made merry tonight!"

"I'll say," says Tony, donning his sunglasses again and promptly staggering into a wall.

"Maybe lose the shades, bro," says Darcy, her voice slightly wavering.

The genius-playgirl-whatever-he-is nods sagaciously, then removes them, tucking them somewhere about his person. "Home, James, and don't spare the horses!" he cries, diving into the limo.

Steve manhandles Thor into the car, before holding the door for Darcy.

"Still can't get drunk, then, Steve?" she asks.

He shakes his head, his face that of a man who has undergone many trials.

"One day, man, one day," she says, patting his shoulder, before falling into a seat.

She distinctly hears him say, "Earth's mightiest heroes, my ass," before unconsciousness hits.

~#~

Darcy's eyes are underscored by deep purple shadows the next day. Not for the first time, she thanks her poor eyesight for meaning she needs glasses, because the chunky frames hide her bags like no concealer known to man can.

She yawns a hello to the security guard on the ground floor, then staggers to the lift.

She's barely awake as she walks into the suite where Loki lives with his breakfast tray.

"Loki?" she yawns, surprised not to find him awake and sitting up on the sofa. "Loki? I've got your breakfast, but I will eat it myself if you do that freaky appearing out of nowhere shit again."

She puts the tray down on the coffee table, then walks up to the bedroom door. She pauses for a second. "Loki?" There's no response, but for some reason all the hairs on her arms are stood on end.

Now, Darcy trusts her instincts. They're usually good ones. So she knows that what she is going to find in that room is not going to be nice.

But she also feels a sense that she has to open the door. So she does.

She certainly wakes up at the sight she's greeted with. Loki is curled into a foetal position, the sheets tangled around him.

And he's whimpering. He's whimpering in his sleep.

Darcy creeps to the head of the bed. When she has nightmares, she's flailing all over the place. This, somehow, is scarier. Loki's face is twisted, his hand gripping the sheet by his cheek so hard she's convinced that one flex of his fingers will rip it.

She kneels down by the side of the bed.

Loki is in the dark. He is in the abyss of his nightmares, the nightmares that are even more than that because they're based on something real, something that he lived through, that he fell through rather than go back to Asgard and even now he wonders if he should just have let them pull him back in instead of seeing those horrors but it's too late now and he's back in the dark and all he can do is curl up in a ball as he falls and falls and falls.

He always falls.

She leans forward, and shakes his shoulder. "Loki. Wake up."

Somewhere in the darkness, he hears a voice. Someone whispering his name. "Loki. Loki." It's getting louder.

His fall is interrupted by something tugging his shoulder, sending him into a flat spin through space.

He jerks awake, sitting bolt upright in a flurry of limbs. He grabs her wrist, pulling her forward and she topples nearly facefirst into his lap, catching herself just in time.

Loki stares at her, unable to let go of her wrist. It's like she's the only thing keeping him anchored in the here and now, instead of in the whirlpool of his head or the abyss of his dreams.

His eyes are wide and hunted looking. He's breathing very fast.

And he's so scared looking that she just wants to give him a hug.

"Woah. Calm. It's okay, man, it's okay. Just a bad dream."

He nods jerkily, his eyes never leaving her face.

"I've got your breakfast. It'll go cold. Shall we go get it for you?" He's aware that he's being treated like a child. That rankles slightly in one part of his head, but another part of him – the part that Darcy managed to appeal to when she mentioned Frigga to get him to eat – finds it comforting.

"C'mon, upsidaisies." He manages to fix her with a sarcastic look, despite the terror still coursing through his veins. "Oh, shut it, you, or I'll go eat your omelette."

He rolls his eyes, but recognises the very real threat, and swings his legs out of bed. He's still holding her wrist in a death grip, but she's not complaining, even though it must be hurting her. He doesn't let go.

Loki lets her walk him into the living area and sit him down. He finally lets go of her wrist.

"Eat. Or else."

He smiles very slightly, although it feels a little forced, and starts to eat. As he does so, he notices her rubbing her wrist.

Uncharacteristic guilt floods his body at the same time as a sort of sick satisfaction. The guilt just about edges it.

He catches her eye and gives her what is unmistakeably an apologetic look. She smiles. "It's all right."

He casts a pointed glance at the clock. She waves a hand. "Pshaw, noone's going to care if one data analyst isn't there on time. 'Sides, I'm not technically due to start for another fifteen minutes."

Loki nods feeling… grateful. Asgard, what is he becoming? Once he was Loki, God of Mischief, feared by beings throughout the branches of Yggdrasil.

Now, he's a mewling child relying on the comfort of a Midgardian in leggings.

She stays with him until he's finished eating. Then she stands up. "Are you gonna be okay? No, wait, scratch that, stupid question."

He shrugs, looking very small.

She taps her chin, thinking. Then an idea hits.

"All right, seeing as I've got to distract you…" She picks up the television remote, and zaps it on. "D'you want Jersey Shore or the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air?" He looks nonplussed. "I think the Fresh Prince, Jersey Shore will give you an aneurysm."

Loki gives her a look. It would take a lot to give him an aneurysm… if he assumed correctly and it was some sort of medical problem.

Darcy expertly flicked through the channels until she landed on what she wanted. "Ah, fab, this episode's only just started."

Loki stares at the screen as a boy in badly fitting shorts and a crown starts to… well, half sing, half speak in rhymes.

"Just listen to the tune and you'll get the gist of it. See ya later."

The first episode is one of the most baffling things Loki has ever experienced in his life. By the second, he knows who the characters are.

By the time Darcy comes back, he's utterly forgotten about his nightmare. He's fascinated by this programme that they seem to show twenty four hours a day. Is this really how Midgardians live?

He likes the lead character, this Will Smith fellow. His tricks are nowhere near the level of Loki's, but he sees a kindred spirit.

She has to stop herself from laughing when she enters the room with the tray. Loki is sat up, knees pulled to his chest, watching the television with such intensity that she's amazed he hasn't burnt a hole in the screen yet.

"Lunchtime!" she chirps merrily. His eyes flash over to her, and then flash back to the show.

It's a quieter lunchtime than normal, as every time she tries to speak, he shushes her, eyes never leaving the screen.

"All right, media junkie, I'll be off. I'll see you later. Try not to get square eyes."

He's mystified by this comment, and she laughs at his expression, before leaving the room.

"Oh god, what have I done?" she asks herself in the corridor. "I've gotten the God of Mischief hooked on the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air."


	4. Comforting Sounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which important things are said by Darcy.

Loki's read all the Harry Potter books now. He won't admit how much he enjoyed them, but not because of their origin. It's more that he's a stubborn bastard.

No… he's always known that humans have their gifts. Their literature is one, he thinks, as he pores over a doorstop of a hardback, his mind momentarily distracted from Tsarist Russia.

So why is it that he was intent on subjugating them? When he told Thor that he thought Midgardians beneath him, was that him? Was that sarcastic 'well, yes' actually him? Or was it his madness? Or was it that particular mixture of blue spark and entitlement complex that he thinks he's starting to notice the hallmarks of as he trawls through his memories?

Darcy interrupts his thoughts, coming clattering into the suite. "The canteen's run out of sandwiches, so it's tortillas for you today."

He looks up, sliding the book onto the sofa cushion at his side. His lips quirk up of their own accord.

She doesn't like to admit how happy it makes her to see him smile. Part of her is constantly saying to herself that this is Loki, the god of fucking chaos, the man who tried to enslave her entire world and bend it to his warped will. That he's evil, twisted, insane.

But the fact is that she can't see it in the thin man who she brings food to, who curls up on the sofa with her books and smiles when she comes in to the room.

"No Fresh Prince today, then?" she asks, nodding her head at the blank television screen. He shakes his head, flicking his eyes down to the book by his hip.

Darcy beams. "Do you like it?"

He shrugs, knowing full well that she can read him by now and feeling a little glow of warmth deep inside his chest at the idea.

"Insufferable bastard," she mutters, and he grins widely. "There's a really good film of it that came out a couple of months ago. I don't think it's out on DVD yet… but knowing Tony Snark, he could probably get hold of it for me with all the special features…" She's talking to herself, but Loki can't help but bark a laugh at her moniker for the Man of Iron.

Her head whips round. "What?" He bites his lip, trying not to laugh at her bemused expression. "What? Did I say something funny? I was only talking about Tony –"

He laughs again.

Realisation dawns upon her. Of course Loki would appreciate the moniker the Avengers – or, in fact, anyone Tony's ever annoyed – have gifted Stark.

She shakes her head. "All right, wise guy." She hands him the tray.

Loki surveys the odd cylinder on his plate.

"It's a Mexican thing. You know Mexico, near where you tried to blast me and Jane into a million bi-" She stops, clapping her hand over her mouth.

She doesn't dare look at him. What if he goes thermonuclear? She wouldn't put it past him to try and kill her again.

There is a very long silence. She wonders if that's just the buildup to her very messy death.

Darcy finally chances a look at the god sat on the sofa next to her and gets a mighty big surprise.

Loki doesn't look murderous. He doesn't even look angry. In fact, the expression on his face can only be described as… confused.

"I – I'm sorry," she whispers.

He shakes his head, but for some reason he can't shake the feeling of immense regret cloaking his bones.

~#~

She knows she should find it demeaning, serving him, but for some reason she doesn't. She genuinely feels like she's making him feel better.

He doesn't know it, but she's noticed how he relaxes when she comes in. How the room warms up slightly. How the perceptible tension in the air evaporates.

And you know what, to her, he seems like a nice enough guy, even if he doesn't talk.

On Loki's part, he finds her primarily amusing, this mortal girl who talks nineteen to the dozen about seeming nonsense.

Or at least, that's what he tells himself.

~#~

She leaves him a DVD the next Sunday when she has to head off sharpish at lunchtime.

He won't admit how bereft he feels in the split-second when she leaves, scarf trailing in her wake.

She sets up the player for him, but it still takes him a while to work out the DVD menu. He nearly has to watch it in Farsi, which wouldn't be a challenge for his prodigious intellect, or his magical gift of tongues, but he prefers English.

He's not really sure what to make of it at first. He can tell it's a children's film, judging by the talking animals and lack of any real bloodshed.

But, against his will, he finds himself becoming drawn into it, into the story, into the world of Narnia and its magic… and its truths, loath as half of him is to admit it.

When Darcy returns at dinner time, she finds him with his knees drawn up to his chest, eyes intent on the screen. "Did you only just start…"

He shakes his head, not turning around. He's still somewhat imperious. He's not sure that part of him will ever leave.

She grins where he can't see. "How many times?"

He holds up his hand.

Three fingers are outstretched.

"Brilliant," she whispers to herself, and sits down next to the enthralled god.

"You know, these films are based on books." His head spins around, eyes wide. "Once you're done with Anna Karenina, I'll bring them along. I should still have my copies… I loved them as a kid."

Her eyes fade back into herself for a second as Loki watches. He is intrigued by this human girl in the midst of remembrance. It is quite bewitching to behold.

Then she snaps back into the now. "You'll have to promise to be careful with them, though."

He pauses a second, and then nods. He realises that she's lending him her most treasured possessions when she brings him her books.

He is not at all sure how that makes him feel.

~#~

Loki still can't bring himself to talk. His voice cannot be truly his own until he knows how much of him went into that speech in Germany. He's got to the stage where he thinks that some of him must have gone into it, but that it can't have been solely him.

But Darcy still hasn't given up on him. He keeps waiting for her to get bored or frustrated with her demeaning task, but she never does. She just continues to bring him his meals, and sit with him, and lend him her clearly beloved books, her babble drowning out the noise in his head, comforting his battered soul, if he even has one by this point.

She's even started staying a little later in the evenings.

He's starting to think that maybe she actually likes him.

~#~

"It's your faaaaavourite," chirps Darcy. "Porridge!"

Loki feels his face fall. He's getting sick of SHIELD's culinary attempts.

"Jeesh, man, way to make a girl feel welcome."

He looks up at her, and that particular chunk of him that he thinks must be the entitlement complex is disgusted at how he feels guilty.

He's not all that acquainted with guilt, strangely enough. He feels guilty for hurting Frigga. He feels a stab of it occasionally when Darcy dodges around mentioning Thor's name.

But does he feel guilty about trying to enslave the earth? He's not too sure about that, because to feel guilty about the whole thing would require a certain amount of regret. And he's not sure yet how much he does regret it.

She can tell he's gone off on one inside his head, so, for reasons she can't quite pin down, she grabs his attention.

"All right, if you're sick of the food, maybe it's time we got you cooking."

The first expression on Loki's face directly translates to 'bitch please'. Darcy puts her hands on her hips, standing her ground.

"For that attitude, Mister, I am definitely going to teach you to cook. As soon as possible. Today. Now. Well. Later. But still today."

He shakes his head, laughing slightly.

~#~

True to her word, at lunchtime she turns up with a bulging plastic bag. Loki watches with amusement as she dumps it all on the kitchen counter.

"Right, wash your hands." He raises his eyebrows at her. "Don't give me that face, wash your hands." She goes over to the sink and then lets out a horrible scream.

With glee, Loki remembers the slime he conjured into it a few days ago.

However, his mischief is cut short when she whirls around on the spot. Her face is livid. "If you conjured that shit up just then as punishment for me making you do something, you are about to have your ass handed to you, Loki."

Her face is so angry that he takes a step back. Half of him recoils at this, amazed at how he could be so weak-willed.

The other half remembers that she once electrocuted Thor. He's overheard far too many conversations outside his door about her weapon. What is it called, again? A taser? What sort of word is that, he asks himself even as he watches her eyes flash to her messenger bag on the sofa.

On instinct, he holds up his hands. He shakes his head, gesturing to the sink.

"What does that mean?" she asks in a menacing tone. "Don't try to tell me a load of green slime just magically appeared in the sink."

He tips his head to one side, mischief radiating from every pore. His very pose seems to say 'well, yes, that is how it happened, technically'.

He backs up when he sees her eyes flick over to her bag again.

Not knowing how to communicate what he's trying to say, he conjures a pad of paper and a pen for himself. The not being able to talk is starting to wear on him, convenience-wise.

Darcy stands with her hands on her hips, toe itching to tap as he writes frantically on the pad and then shoves it at her.

I didn't put it in there now! I didn't even realise it was still there!

His expression is comical. He looks like a small child who's been caught silly-stringing the headmaster's office.

"Then when did it get there?"

His face visibly falls. Her heart clenches as he takes the pad off her and writes, his hand's movements decidedly jerkier.

He holds out the pad with a defeated flop of his wrist. He has no wish to revisit the evening day of the slime's nativity.

The night before you put the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air on.

Darcy looks down at the elegant script, and then back up at the thin man standing in front of her. He seems to have halved in size in the last minute. His eyes are staring down at the floor, his shoulders tensed… in concentration. He's blocking something out.

And then it clicks.

"The night before I woke you from that bad dream?" she asks softly, and he feels grateful for her gentleness even at the same time as howling in shame and hate.

He nods stiffly.

"You were trying to… keep yourself occupied, am I right?" Even as she tries to be careful with his delicate feelings, her normal diction comes shining through and for some unknown reason it makes him want to smile.

He nods again.

"All right then." His head snaps up. He was expecting… well, he doesn't know what, but certainly not her to drop the subject. "Can you clear it up, though?" He snaps his fingers, and it vanishes. "See, I have domesticated you."

The slime makes a messy splatter all over one of the plate glass windows. "Real mature, Loki."

He grins.

"Come on, Emeril, time to cook."

He raises an eyebrow at her as he washes his hands. "He's a TV chef. Right. We are making pasta bolognaise today."

She lights the hob and starts browning off the minced meat.

"You're pretty lethal with a knife, so the stories go, so can you chop up everything in that bag there?"

He nods, summoning one of his throwing knives.

"Um… you could just use a vegetable knife." She points at the knifeblock. He sees her slightly scared face, and then vanishes the knife, swapping it for the comparatively blunt mortal blade.

She visibly relaxes.

He smirks slightly, and starts to chop.

Darcy stares for a second at the speed with which he slices up the carrots and onions, and then blinks. She decides to turn away from the frankly disturbing sight, before she admits how strangely beautiful it is.

"All right, you need to stir it at the same time as adding in the oregano," she says from behind him ten minutes later, directing him.

Part of him feels degraded, but it's outweighed by the comfort from this simple task that consumes his mind. It's like why he enjoys Darcy's company, he reflects as she gets him to open a packet of straight sticks into a pot of boiling water. He's past the point of denying that fact when she so clearly eases his mind, if not his essential temperament.

"You need to salt the water or else the spaghetti will taste gross."

He nods, then leaves the pot to simmer as she directs.

It strikes him as she makes him grate cheese that he hasn't reacted to someone calling him out on his shit like that since Frigga told him off as a child.

"Oh, fuck, I forgot to tell you to stir the shitty pasta," she groans, lifting the lid on the coagulated mass in the metal pot.

He leans over her shoulder to look at the lump in the bottom of the pan. She looks up at him.

There is a long beat of silence, and then the pair of them start laughing like children who have eaten too much sugar.

~#~

It's become their thing over the last week. Darcy brings ingredients at lunchtime, and they make their food together. If it requires a long time to cook, she brings a DVD as well.

One day she breaks the trend of trying to teach him healthy food, and brings the ingredients for chocolate drenched cupcakes and nothing else. She thinks it might cheer him up a little.

Loki finds himself smiling slightly as she has him break four bars of chocolate into chunks. He likes this. It's easy. Uncomplicated. Soothing. This mortal and her cooking make him feel better.

"Thor thinks you don't want to see him." Darcy speaks without breaking eye contact with the bowl of batter that she's mixing, her hand gripping the wooden spoon steadily.

Loki looks up at her. Thor's right. Thor's wrong. Thor is making this a lot more complicated.

"Pass me the vanilla essence, would you?" she says, still in the same, normal tone. He looks at the ephemera piled up on the side, and then holds out the bottle. She uncaps it and chucks a load of it in. "Can you stir while I melt the chocolate?"

He nods, taking the bowl from her slightly sticky hands. He knows that he shouldn't enjoy this - and part of him does scream that this is servants' work – but he finds it comforting. It distracts his mind for a while.

"He genuinely wants to make amends, I think," she continues, tipping the chocolate chunks into a bowl over a pan of boiling water. "He doesn't come up because he thinks it'll upset you."

The churning feelings that usually come rolling off Loki are absent for a moment. The air is silent.

She pats his shoulder without thinking about it. "C'mon, Heston, time to ladle out the batter."

~#~

Loki raises his eyebrows slightly when she furnishes him with a plate of the strawberry sauce-drenched, chocolate-filled cupcakes as his lunch, but he rolls with it as one has to when Darcy Lewis is your keeper.

"Go on, Remy, try it!"

He raises an eyebrow at her. "You haven't seen Ratatouille? No, wait, of course you haven't. Stupid Darcy. I'll bring that one along at some point. You'll love it. Or hate it. What are your feelings on culinarily-talented animated French rats?"

He stares at her as if she's gone completely mad. Maybe she has. He's never sure with this mortal who talks sense mixed with a liberal splash of total and utter nonsense.

Darcy reads his expression perfectly, which scares some of him rather more than he'd like to admit.

"Hey, don't look at me like that. I'm the sane one in this room, while maintaining a healthy balance of nuttiness in comparison with the larger part of society."

She realises what she's said a split-second after the words leave her mouth. What was it with her and saying colossally stupid, crashingly insensitive things?

However, this time she doesn't expect him to try and eviscerate her. She can feel the atmosphere in the room from her and her big mouth.

Loki feels the storm of torment crash over him like a tidal wave. Is he insane? Is he insane in as harmless a way as the girl sat down next to him? Was he always this way? Was he ever sane?

Will he ever be?

Would that be him if he was?

Darcy watches the interplay of emotions across his mobile face. She's gotten used to it over the last couple of weeks. She can't imagine what it must be like inside his head.

"You're really struggling, aren't you?" she says softly, without even thinking.

Loki's head whips up, food completely forgotten. He stares at her for a second, and then, for reasons that he himself doesn't know, he nods once.

Her face is a picture of sympathy. "I'm not gonna pretend I understand what you've got going on up there, but… you're not alone."

He freezes.

"And like, I know you don't like mortals much, and hey, I guess we haven't got much to recommend us when you consider the shit we've done to the planet and to each other," she rambles, "but like, if you want a friend, not that you have to, I'm here, y'know? Cause, like, I think you could do with one."

Loki stares at her, at this fragile mortal who's just extended an offer of friendship to him, the god of mischief, the man who, if things had been different, would have enslaved the earth and made her kneel to him.

Would he have wanted her to kneel?

Darcy's painfully aware that he's not acknowledged her speaking.

She stands up. "All right, I guess I'd better go back to work. The world will almost certainly implode unless I scroll through another fifteen pages of conspiracy theories masquerading as fanfiction on Livejournal."

Loki suddenly comes back to life. An insane rush of gratitude and… affection crashes over him.

He might not be whole yet – but he had someone who was willing to be there until he was. And she cared for him, so he must have some sort of self, even under all the conflict.

He sits up spastically, his hand reaching forward as if he could pull her back. Her hand is on the doorknob. He's got to do it.

For the first time in over seven months, Loki speaks. His voice is sticky, creaky from lack of use. It feels all wrong in his mouth. But he says it anyway, because he's got to.

"Thank you, Darcy Lewis."


	5. Little Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which relationships develop. And Nick Fury isn't convinced by Darcy's bullshit.

"Thank you, Darcy Lewis."

Darcy smiles slightly, pausing at the door.

"See ya later." The door clicks shut.

Loki flumps backward, feeling exhausted… and just a little bit happy.

See ya later.

~#~

The silences are no longer as deafening as they had been before.

He's still quiet, don't get him wrong, but… he can form spoken words now. It's hard, but he can do it. Only certain subjects, mind you, as they discover one lunchtime in late March.

"So did you like I Capture the Castle?" she asks, stirring milk into two cups of coffee. The God of Mischief has, perhaps appropriately, turned out to be a caffeine fiend.

"Overly romantic tripe," he replies, leant against the counter.

Darcy whirls around. "You did not just insult one of my favourite books of all time, Loki."

He merely smirks.

"Ugh. You disgust me. First you say Mr Darcy is a 'bedwetting fool' and now you diss I Capture the Castle… Jeez, maybe I should start giving you non-fiction or something."

"I doubt," he says sardonically, "anything 'factual' from this realm could teach me anything I did not already know."

"Oh, I don't know," she replies without really thinking, "I think you could learn a lot from Mill's On Liberty."

Her eyes bug out the second the words have left her lips, and she claps her hand across her mouth, as if to prevent herself saying anything else.

Loki's face twists. She watches his features contort for a long moment, lips opening and closing, trying to form words that won't come.

He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what to think. In his months of soul-searching, he still has not come any closer to what his view on Midgard's freedom was. What it is.

When he had been possessed with the Tesseract and the madness of his infinite fall, hatred and insanity pulsing in tandem through his veins, he'd believed that there was no freedom.

But that had only come from Thanos whispering in his ear as he'd fallen, Thanos who'd pulled him from the dark and left him staggering into the arms of The Other, broken and bleeding and mad, craving revenge. That alliance… had that been him? Or had that been Thanos, dripping poison in his ear that fed upon his resentment and grief and terror, taking him to whole new levels?

The whisperings still haunt him, coming to him in his sleep at night. Sometimes he fears they aren't just memories, that Thanos is looking for his revenge… Because Loki failed.

And there's another question. How does he feel about his failure to take over Midgard?

A sudden noise startles him from his churning thoughts. Darcy, knowing all too well 'that face', has smacked her hands together an inch from his ears. He jumps, partially hating himself for being so weak.

"Don't go there, Loki," she says softly. "I know that look."

He nods, the motion nearly imperceptible. Then he takes his coffee and returns to the sofa, curling his legs up under him like a child.

"I'm sorry," she says.

He nods again. It's all he can do.

There's a long way to go.

~#~

Stark appears in her office – well, if you can call a room with a blutack sculpture of the Statue of Liberty and a tower of takeaway coffee cups as integral pieces of furniture an office – one afternoon.

"Yo, Taser Tot," he says by way of greeting.

She picks her head up from the desk. It's been a slow day. Loki is nose-deep in one of her books again. "Six out of ten for originality."

He waves a hand. "Bitch, please. You know that was good."

"Whatever, Snark."

"At least I tried to be imaginative. Anyway, Pepper wants you to come over for dinner on Saturday. Some sort of big team bonding dinner thing."

Darcy's actually rather touched. She wasn't really aware she counted as part of the team.

"By the bigass smile currently spreading across your face, I'm guessing that's a yes?" He turns to the door. "Saturday, seven o'clock, Stark Tower. Wear a pretty dress. Though," he says, pausing in the doorway, "not that one from the other night. Don't want to give Steve a heart attack when he sees your tits in the bright light of day."

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever, Snark."

~#~

She turns up earlier than normal to bring him his dinner on Saturday. He pops his head up from the battered book to stare at her.

"Hello." She looks a little flustered. In fact, she looks different. Very different.

Darcy's clad in a dress. An honest to god dress.

Unnoticed by Darcy, Loki gapes at the female before him – because, let's face it, he's never really seen her for what she is before.

A beautiful, luscious woman.

He instantly snaps his eyes away from her. This is dangerous. He cannot imagine Thor being particularly amenable to him ogling his friend.

He imagines Thor's woman would be even less happy, which would translate to Thor being even more likely to clock him around the head with Mjolnir.

And no one wants that as a wakeup call.

Darcy waves her hand in front of his face. "Loki? Earth to Planet Mean and Green, do you read me?"

Loki raises an eyebrow at her.

"Well, you're not exactly Mr Cute and Cuddly, are you?"

He can't disguise the revulsion that those words bring forth in him. Darcy laughs at his face. "No, I don't think anyone's ever called you cuddly in your life. Maybe it's all the leather and metal," she says contemplatively," walking towards the counter. "Personally, I think it's more to do with the aura of total, unimpeachable evil that just clouds your entire persona." She turns over her shoulder to make her trademark 'having Loki on' look.

He wonders if she makes that face for anyone else.

He gets an unpleasant surge of jealousy, which he does his best to shake off.

Darcy gives him a funny look. "You alright in there, bro? You're a total space cadet today."

He shakes his head as if dislodging a fly, then nods, walking over to the counter.

"You're early," he manages to articulate as she walks over to the cutlery drawer.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I'm going out, so if I'd come at normal time, I wouldn't have been able to stay very long." She looks down at her watch. "As it is, I'm going to have to get off pretty quick." She sighs, but Loki isn't listening.

I wouldn't have been able to stay very long.

Once again, the God of Mischief is starting to wonder if he reads too much into the things this girl says and does around him. The idea makes one side of him nervous and the other disgusted.

"Ooookay," says Darcy, more than a little freaked out by Loki's blank face. He suddenly snaps to attention.

"My apologies."

She nods slowly. "Alright, well, here's your dinner." She pushes a plate of curry towards him.

He stares at it for a second, unable to discern what's wrong with the image in front of him. "Where's your plate?" he asks dumbly, cursing how he sounds like an unintelligent dunderhead from the wrong side of Asgard.

She makes an apologetic face. "I'm going out for dinner. Tony and Pepper are having the whole gang over." Her face is tight. He knows she is expecting him to blow up over the mention of her friendship with the other Avengers, just as he had one day, many weeks before.

"Oh." That one syllable is infused with more discontent than he'd ever have admitted explicitly.

Darcy, however, doesn't seem to have noticed. She seems more surprised by the fact that he hasn't blown up at her.

To be honest, so is he.

"Hence… your apparel?" he manages to articulate, still not taking his dinner which he knows is cooling rapidly.

She snorts. "My 'apparel'," she says in a bad imitation of his accent. "I don't know what happened to the Asgardian dictionary, but round here we call it a dress."

He thinks to himself that he would more usually call an item such as this a siren's trap, but he definitely can't get his mouth to say that out loud, even if he wanted to (which he doesn't).

"How does it look?" she asks, entirely without guile or innuendo as she twirls for him. "I wasn't sure about it when I put it on, but I was in a bit of a rush cause I got distracted by the new episode of Supernatural."

He's aware that he's staring at her. She, however, completely misinterprets it again. "Supernatural's great. You'd like it. Especially Bobby. His world view is similar to yours, but exchanging the words 'puny mortals' for 'idgits'." Somewhere he registers that it's nice that she can make jokes about that that he can laugh at. Well, sometimes.

She's looking at him expectantly. "Come on, dude, I need your input. Judging by that fuckawesome suit you wore in Stuttgart, you've got a good sense of style."

He's silent, so she freaks. "Oh god, it looks terrible, doesn't it? I knew the flowery print thing wasn't going to work on anyone who wasn't a little hipster stick!"

Loki's eyes bug out in panic. His brain starts flailing around looking for words to say that aren't going to reveal how much he appreciates this dress. Because that would be admitting he finds this puny mortal in any way attractive.

Also, he doesn't want her to be upset.

"No," he says slowly. "The dress suits you… very well." He keeps his eyes on her face.

She flames, then stops. "Wait, are you having me on? You are the god of lies, and all."

Darcy is taken aback by how serious his expression is.

"Trust me when I say I am not lying in any way. You look beautiful, Darcy Lewis."

She stands there, slightly knocked off kilter by such a heartfelt compliment from a man who hadn't been able to speak full sentences three weeks before.

"Thank you," she says softly, entirely unlike the way she normally brushes off compliments with humour.

"You are welcome, Darcy." He looks up at the clock. "Now, I believe you must be leaving." The last word comes out garbled, his lips apparently knowing his emotions better than he does.

"Shit, I really have gotta split. See you later. Don't forget Dexter's on at nine."

And she's banging out of the room in a clatter of bags and shouted farewells.

Don't leave, the sympathetic, vulnerable part of him whispers. The dangerous, resentful part snarls viciously. It's like he's going mad all over again.

But this time, it's entirely of his own creation.

~#~

Tony's tower is, despite being fuckugly on the outside – she's definitely on Steve's side on that one – rather lovely on the inside. Darcy suspects that may well be to do with Pepper.

"Darcy," beams the aforesaid Miss Potts as she comes to greet her latest guest. "So glad you could come!"

The data analyst smiles widely, despite herself. "It was awesome of you to invite me."

"It's a pleasure. The others are on the deck, if you want to go through."

Five of the Avengers are, as promised, stood out on the deck with its stunning vistas of the city. It's an unseasonably warm day, the skies a beautiful shade of cerulean.

"Darcy," says Steve with joy, coming over to hug her.

"Hey big guy, how's it hanging? We still need to go see Trance!" She punches his arm.

He smiles. "Of course, Darcy. I'll text you," he says with pride and her heart melts. Bless him.

"Hello Darcy," says Dr Banner, kissing her cheek as formality dictates. "I trust you haven't given Nick a heart attack yet?"

"Not yet, but I'm working on it."

"That's Taser Tot," smirks Tony, handing her a glass. "You drink Scotch, right? Or d'you want some of the vodka Tasha brought?"

She turns around to see the red haired assassin nod at her. By her side, Clint raises a hand. "Hey, Darce."

Darcy smiles back at the deadly sharpshooter who she regularly talks to about the ice hockey. "How's it going?"

"Not bad. You? Killed him yet?"

She knows he's joking, but she feels her stomach turn to ice and then sink. "Er, not yet."

Sensing her discomfort, Steve cuts in. "Say, where's Thor?"

"He's not been right for weeks," says Dr Banner, sounding tired and anxious.

Darcy frowns. Thor, unhappy? The thought doesn't seem to compute. Thor is the god of jollity, buxom maidens and flowing mead, not Angstfest City.

~#~

Thor finally turns up five minutes before the dinner gong goes, noticeably without Jane. While this originally concerns Darcy, she remembers that her ex-boss and friend is in San Fran for the week, talking to an astrophysicist friend of Erik's.

So her attention turns to Thor

His normally upright, proud carriage is made a mockery of as he sits slumped in his seat, eyes downcast. His face is closed, vastly different to his normal, open countenance.

Worst of all, of course, is the fact that he's picking at his food. Thor, pick?

Darcy watches him with worry all through the soup and the fish, before a rather distressed cook comes into the room.

"Erm, Mister Stark, we've got a slight problem."

"What's that then, Ethel?" Tony asks easily.

"Well, sir, the oven's sort of… exploded," says the English woman. "Poof. Along with the beef wellington."

"Poof," says Clint softly, earning a smack around the head from Natasha.

"Oh dear," replies Tony. "I'll call in the engineers tomorrow for you, okay?"

Ethel nods. "Thank you, Mister Stark. In the meantime, however, I can prepare a replacement meat course, if you and your guests would not mind waiting twenty minutes?"

The panicked expression on the poor woman's face is enough to have every head at the table nodding. The frazzled woman smiles gratefully, then disappears.

Darcy sees her chance, and collars Thor, practically dragging him out of the room.

"What's up with you, Thunderpants?" She waits to see if this gets any reaction. "Nope, that reference clearly flew right over your head. Alright. Come on, Thor, we're all worried about you. Even Tony, not that he'd ever say."

The Norse God of Thunder, Crown Prince of Asgard, shuffles his feet.

"Loki will not see me," he says softly. "I have said time and time again that it matters not to me who his birth parents are, that he is my brother no matter what. And yet he still will not even look at me." His voice is so dejected that the very vowels are drooping.

Darcy feels a rush of emotion for Thor, and for Loki, for not seeing how much he has here in his brother.

"Look, Thor, he's going through a lot at the moment. He's trying to work out who he is… and I guess he thinks you're going to disrupt that. Give him time. He'll come round."

"You truly think so, Lady Darcy?" The hopeful expression upon his face breaks her heart.

"Sure I do, Thor. Just you wait."

~#~

Once they're all sat with bowls of pasta and meatballs – definitely preferable to beef wellington, in Darcy's mind – the atmosphere is much lighter. Thor talks with his comrades, when he's not shoving food into his mouth with a speed that some slow moving animals would not be able to register.

Conversation flows freely and easily… and Darcy finds herself believing that she, data analyst and Loki-minder, really is part of this team.

The thought makes her smile.

~#~

"Morning," Darcy yawns the next day. Loki pops his head up from Dubliners, smiling.

He won't admit how happy he is to see her.

"How was last night?" she asks, schlepping over towards him.

His lip curls.

"Not a success, then." She hands him the bowl of fruit, then catches sight of the barely touched curry on the side. "Nor was the curry, either, apparently."

He shrugs, feeling a pinprick of guilt.

"Can't say I blame you, man. The SHIELD canteen is not good at curry. It's a shame, really, 'cause Indian food is to die for."

The look on his face speaks of curiosity… and wistfulness. He looks years younger, and for a moment Darcy feels as if she is seeing a more innocent Loki of yore, worlds away from the jaded, broken man she's been bringing food to for the past couple of months.

And it's that expression that makes her mind up on the matter.

"Right. Tomorrow night is Friday. For most of us puny mortals, that would mean going out on the town and getting incredibly drunk. However, I often spend mine in front of the television with more takeout than someone of my figure can really afford to eat. How's about I bring that party around here?"

Loki stares at her. "You wish… to share your evening with me?"

"Yeah. If you'd like."

He nods, slowly, before even thinking about it. Before the other side of him can start screaming at him.

Darcy grins. "Brilliant."

~#~

The tempting aroma of spices and chicken curls up to his nose as Darcy clatters through the door.

"Any chance you could help a girl out, here?" she exclaims, juggling a large brown paper bag and an armful of DVDs.

He smirks, always relishing the chance for mischief, and appears a foot in front of her. She shrieks and drops the DVDs. "Jesus, Loki, are you ever going to grow up?"

"Probably not," he replies, taking the bag of takeout from her and setting it down on the coffee table. He snaps his fingers and bowls and cutlery appear.

"Oh, nice. You've been having me wait on you hand and foot when you can just magic things out of thin air." Despite his awareness that she is joking with him, he feels a stab of guilt at that.

His mother would not have been impressed.

He tamps down the disquieting thought of his mother and peers inside the large bag.

"Tikka Masala is for you," comes Darcy's voice from the kitchen. "Figured it would be best, considering you liked the chilli the other day."

She's surprised to find that he's not only placed his dinner in his bowl, but in hers too. She hands him a glass of Coke, despite part of her brain saying it cannot be a good idea to caffeinate the God of Mischief at this time of night.

"So, do you want to watch Sherlock or Doctor Who?" she asks, holding up two DVD cases.

He gives her his best quizzical face, all pursed lips and one raised raven eyebrow.

"Sherlock is mystery, Doctor Who is space."

He thinks for a moment, then points at the Sherlock box. She smiles. Doctor Who can wait for the moment.

She sits down at the other end of the sofa to watch the DVD, picking up her bowl. He passes her a fork, and she has to hide her smile. What was it she had been saying the other day about domesticating the god?

~#~

Loki takes to Sherlock just as much as she thought he would. His emerald eyes are riveted to the screen for the entire episode.

It's a wonderful distraction, this television. His entire mind focusses on the story derailing on the screen ahead of him, this marvellous tale of crime and intelligence and… friends.

When it ends, his eyes turn to hers for the first time in an hour and a half. A small shock knocks her as she makes eyes contact with him. Weird.

He only says one thing, although the expression on his face tells her just as much as those three words.

"Is there more?"

~#~

They've gotten through the entire first season of Sherlock by the time midnight rolls around. The wreckage of their dinner lies abandoned on the coffee table, Loki's scraped clean bowl review enough for the curry.

"So, how do you like Friday night, Darcy-style?" she asks, leaning against the sofa-back.

"It was… tolerable," he says, holding back a smile.

"Oh, fuck off with your 'tolerable'," retorts Darcy. "Don't think I can't read you by now."

Loki freezes. For some reason, the idea of this strange human creature being able to read him unnerves him.

She knows she's said something wrong, but this time she really doesn't know what. She changes the subject, desperate not to incur any more hissy fits or freezeouts. "We could do this again. If you wanted to, that is," she backtracks. Why is it that he has the power to reduce her to a sophomore in high school?

"I mean, it's not exactly going out on the town, but I've got to educate you in British television at some point."

She watches him carefully as she says this. It's testament to how much she has grown used to his mannerisms that she notices the tiny flicker in his eyes when she mentions leaving the apartment.

"That would be… not unpleasant."

She rolls her eyes at him, while a tiny thread of an idea begins to weave itself into the skeins of a plan.

~#~

"Director Fury?"

Nick Fury whips around in his chair. He'd be damned if Darcy 'insubordination' Lewis actually referred to him so politely.

Motherfuck.

"Lewis. What can I do for you? Because judging by your butter-wouldn't-melt expression and uncharacteristic manners, I'm guessing it's going to be me doing the thing I don't want to."

Darcy grins, trying not to look like she's as nervous as she is. "Okay, so do you remember the fact that you've been keeping Loki up above our heads for the last couple of months?"

Nick looks at her as if she were mentally stunted. "Remember – do you think I would forget the interplanetary supervillain who is apparently taking a vacation on the world he tried to take over, who's apparently playing houseguest in my HQ?" he exclaims.

She maintains her wide smile. "Excellent, juuust checking the old grey cells." She puts out a fist as if to rap on his skull, but Fury's expression speaks 'death' in volumes. She wisely retracts her arm.

"Anyway, you know how you don't want him going apeshit on the earth again, 'not on my watch we'll avenge it there's no way you'll win' yeah?"

"Lewis."

She speeds up. "And so surely – logically, Spock-style – it would make sense to keep Loki in a sane state, for the benefit of the world at large, yeah?"

Fury can barely restrain himself from tapping his foot. "Get to the point."

Darcy draws herself up to her full height, taking a deep breath. The words come out in a long gabbling string. "Well I was thinking in the interests of Loki's sanity maybe it would be a good idea to let him out every once in a while y'know so he doesn't start climbing the walls."

Fury's eyebrows shoot upwards. She scrabbles to maintain her argument. "You want Loki to be eliminated as a threat to the earth, right? Well, he never was until he went completely lala after discovering his entire life was a lie. Sticking him thirty stories up and keeping him there isn't really going to help his mental state. The guy's desperate to get out."

"And you would know this how, Lewis?"

She rolls her eyes, not even having to lie. "Um, hello, I take him his meals three times a day. And I've got two eyes and a decent allotment of people skills. I think I know when someone is getting cabin fever."

Fury eyes her. "C'mon Director," she pleads, then adds, thinking it can't hurt, "please. Sir."

There's a long silence during which Fury eyeballs her. He's either assessing the situation from every angle, including whether or not she's Loki's pawn, or he's checking her out. Darcy barely represses a shudder. Ew.

He relents. "Alright. But you'll have to go under guard."

"Nu-uh," she starts, but is shot a quelling look. "Alright, send guards that aren't with us. The incognito guys. No need to make him feel threatened, is there?" she says meaningfully. That political science degree certainly paid off in terms of understanding how people think about threats.

"Fine. Are we done here?"

Repressing the unearthly urge to throw her arms around the Director, Darcy shakes her head, thanks him profusely, and darts for the door. Man, the guy gave her the creeps.

"Lewis." She stops at the door, turning around. Half of her expects to see a gun pointed at her face. Or worse.

But strangely enough, Fury is wearing a very faintly amused expression. "This isn't you trying to get the God of Mischief on a date, is it?"

She flames bright red. "Nick, I'm hurt you could even think such a thing."


End file.
